I probably shouldn’t address you that way. But I can’t possibly think of another name for you right now.

I’m in the middle of a million things. I do have a million things to do. But I can’t. Not right now. I HAD to write this. I should have written this letter, a long time ago. But words don’t come to me easily. I’m no writer! Certainly not a journalist. No, I don’t speak in convoluted terms and I would never do that to baffle any listener, not even to your sister.

What do I tell you, that you don’t already know? That I painfully think about you all the time? That you are the last thing I think about every night, before I fall asleep, and the first thought that comes to my mind as soon as I wake up. I think about you when I’m working, when I’m at the movies, when I’m talking to my friends, when I study, when I prepare for interviews, when I wait for the interview to begin, and as soon as the interviews end. My eyes well up every time I think about you. I cringe on the inside when someone mentions your name. I google you perpetually (found videos which I’m going to forget that I ever saw). Found pictures that never should have existed, found stuff which you never should have done. In spite of all that, I fervently save them all. I love looking up on the internet for any news about your movie, which is incidentally getting released very soon. I’m so happy about that. I never thought I will be, but I am. So much of hard work went into it, no?

It’s been 2 months and 21 days since I last spoke to you. It was over the phone. You were shocked, a little angry and mainly uncomfortable with the fact that I was in love with you. We spoke for 42 minutes. Actually longer than that, because you were swearing and I was hanging up, a lot! The next day, when I was at work, I got a text from you. The familiar thrill when I see that you had called or sent a text. I would give anything in the world to have that back. You asked if you could leave, I said ‘yes’ and you thanked me and left. I was fine then. For a minute, at least. Then the familiar feeling washed over me. I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating. That was the first time I felt real physical pain in my chest. I remember it, because I wrote it down right away. I also told myself that it will be okay. But somewhere deep down, I knew it won’t be. It wasn’t the usual fight where we say good bye and be back again. I was in love and you knew it, and it meant you’re not coming back. I came back home sick. I thought fevers are caused by viruses and bacteria, not by fights with your boyfriend! Oh wait, you weren’t and you’ll never be. The boyfriend, I mean. I lost count of the numerous times I was down with fever, every time we broke up or had a fight! Beats me!

Yes, you have tried to contact me after that, but I couldn’t go through that again. I can’t possibly go through the worst day of my life again. I’m being rational. I’m listening to mom and my two best friends. But there has been a huge communication gap between my heart and the brain. The heart has absolutely no idea about the decisions I have made. That I’m moving on. I really am. The stupid heart yearns for you. Only you. Nothing can make ‘it’ happy. Not a new job. A new apartment. New friends. Nope It refuses to accept that I will have to live each day knowing that I can never have you. Never. It’s a heavy feeling. The heart wants it all back. I want you back. Just the way you were. Just the way how things were.

The way you used to look at me. The way I always wanted to sit next to you, closer to you, grab your hand, or hug you, cry, kiss and love. I actually liked leaving working early or taking days off altogether to see you. The first day I left early from work was because I had something in my eye, and boy am I glad that happened. You made me come over to your place, and we went to the beach after that. It was one of the very few innocent dates we had. I liked that. The movies too. More than anything, I loved coming over to your place. The familiar smell. The happy feeling that, “I’m here with him right now and that’s all matters”. But I also started to hate it. Coming there meant, I had to leave sometime. I hated your car, because I had to get out of it sometime. Nothing was forever. I wanted to mother you, take care of you, love you like no one ever would. I always wanted to be near you. Very close. So close. I hated distance. I hated it when you’ll leave me for a few minutes to get your car. I hated separation. I hated when you’ll let go of my hand. Hated it when you’ll drop me off. Hated hanging up after talking to you over the phone. I hated the fact that I was almost always shy around you, in a fight/flight mode. But I liked holding your hand when we took that long walk in the forest, when it had just rained. I liked sitting with you in the dark. I liked listening to you talk. Liked listening to your heart beat. Liked it when you smiled. Your large nose. Your greying hair. The lips. More than anything I loved your big heart.

But my world changed when we became one. Or at least in my mind we were one. Your pain became mine as you let me witness your world. You let me take a walk in your shoes. I cried when you felt pain. I smiled when you were happy. When I started having your dreams, when your break-up became mine, that’s when I knew it. This was it. Love. Not the happy, chirpy, romantic love, but the sad, pathetic, forever unhappy love. I was hurting. A little too much. I should have left. I tried. God, I tried so hard. I failed. I stayed and fell into a deep pit. I’ve been there ever since. Never moving. Not even a millimeter. I think I got used to being in love with you, in a sadomasochistic way. I’m used to the tears flowing during work. I try not to sob too hard, for the fear of waking up my mother, during the nights. I hate the tear marks on my glasses, the pillow, my clothes and the numerous tissues I have used up in the past year. I stop autos a little away from home. Walk the streets crying, because I don’t have a place to cry my heart out. Okay now, don’t worry. I’ve done that only once. I don’t do that anymore. Not on the streets. I wait for my folks to get to sleep to do that, like right now.

What am I sad about? That I’ve been a victim of unrequited love? That even though I love you with every beat of my heart, you don’t love me back. You have never loved me. And you never will. I don’t hate you for that. I’m just sad. I feel unlucky most of the times that I couldn’t be the person YOU wanted. The fact that we were never meant to be, and that we are so imperfectly perfect for each other, yet we can’t be together. We don’t have happiness destined for us. You are my unspeakable secret, unreachable dream and an unforgettable love. I think I will have to live with that. Hey, it’s my problem right? I’ll deal with it. I was just your ‘friend’, your ‘emo crutch’, your ‘midnight friend to make calls and cry about your girlfriend’, ‘the best friend you can always count on’, ‘the girl who’ll comply to your animal instincts’, your ‘platonic friend that you don’t mind having an affair with’, because you love me as a person and you are attracted to me. Not just to my body, but mind and soul? (Well, you said it).

Everyone warned me about the pain that will follow and that it’s not worth it. But you know what? I will treasure every moment I spent with you. They are so so so special. No one would ever understand. Not even me! I don’t miss you. I never do. It’s something more. Something toxic. But I’ve started to like it.

There will come a day, when I will stop looking for your face in a crowd. The incessant reading up of saved text messages and the internet stalking will stop. I will probably tear up the written text messages, which I safeguard and carry with me all the time. Throw away the movie ticket I carry around, the one we went to for the first time. It was our very first date, when you were in a relationship with another girl. A very serious one, it was. I think I might actually throw away the flower you gave me. The one which grew at your place and is now safely resting between the pages of my most favourite book. But I’m afraid I wouldn’t stop loving you. I really am scared. I’m terrified. I need you. I love you.

You transferred to my school halfway through the year and as soon as you sat down I said hello. You were different, you were pierced you were beautiful. It wasn’t until we were at the movies that you said you had a boyfriend, that hurt. At grad you took my breath away.

Now we are married to different people and basically don’t talk but here is the thing I NEVER forgot you. I was just not ready to be who I could be. Now I am becoming a better man and wish I could fly there and just kiss you.

Like this:

I have the most insane crush on you. If I hadn’t been told you had a girlfriend, I would have tried to kiss you already. But the fact you haven’t told me about her makes me think you must want to kiss me. And the fact you haven’t keeps me from telling you about my boyfriend. So what now?

Your move? My move? No move?

Maybe you really just like the thrill of the chase and now that you know you can have me, you won’t continue to even want it.

But my friend met you and said your eyes lingered just long enough. In that way. You know the way. You can’t look at me like that and expect me to behave myself.

Like this:

Has somebody written about this already? Does anybody else want this? Would you do this with me?

I want to make-out to a mixtape of my favorite make-out songs. While it plays for half an hour or more.

I want to make this tape with you or for you. I want some songs to be from when we were teenagers (because we are the same age and grew up in the ’80’s and ’90’s) and some songs to be ones that teenagers listen to now. Because I’m older, lots of times passion happens with mad strong kissing and grabbing of body parts. Quickly getting down to it. Rolling and sweating in the bed. Two strong flexible people. I like that too.

I want the discipline of a make-out session where you keep your clothes on and there’s some drool involved and concentration. Ebbs and flows. Some embarrassment. Hesitant tongues.

Like this:

You were the most awkward crush I ever had. It started over Instant Message. It was one of those internal to our school IM’s, so you could just chat with anyone because you could look up their email address in the school directory. I don’t know who started it. But you are incredibly attractive and really smart. You loved Bjork, which I thought was super endearing for some reason. So we would chat. Witty, smart, flirty.

Then we would see each other in person and it would be SO AWKWARD. The most awkward. Then I think I graduated and it was over, or seemed over. I think I met your dad in your dorm room on the last day of school. Helping you take down your Bjork posters and roll them up carefully. No bending the corners. I felt like it was weird I was meeting him, as if he thought I may be undressing you, though at this point we hadn’t so much as brushed elbows.

Then it was summer and I think we kept up the IMing somehow. It was flirty, verging on dirty. You had a major crush on that girl who lived in X. Since my house was only an hour from there, you drummed up this plan to go visit her, but you would stay at my house on the way. Two birds with one stone? Tell both girls you like them and see which one sticks? I think you slept on the floor of my bedroom on a mattress. It’s strange my parents let you do that, but I think they knew how disinterested I was, so they let it slide. We watched that ridiculously awkward Adam Sandler movie. There was nothing funny about it. It made me feel even more awkward because we were being awkward and the content was awkward and we were talking about awkwardness. I felt like I needed to be saved. I didn’t know what to do with you and you were in my house in my small town.

I told my parents they had to help me entertain you because I couldn’t take a second more of the strange thing going on between us, so then the four of us went to the drive-in. WHAT?! Why would that be less awkward. You probably thought they were trying to keep us from having a romantic date by hanging out with us, but I was just so confused about what was going on between us. Maybe you just didn’t have it in you to put the flirt of the IM into action. Maybe it’s just hard to translate online flirting to real life desire.

After ice cream with my folks we came home. You must have got over it when I didn’t try to sleep next to you on the floor mattress. I think you left the next day to chase that other girl. I hope it went better with her.

I think of you sometimes and hope everything is good for you. I’m sure we were just young. But that whole thing was so painful. There is something to be said for just going for it and skipping all the build up. Maybe it’s the expectation after the build up that makes it so hard to get over the awkwardness hump. Plus we were so young. I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now.

You are pudgy in that cute way. And damn, you can dance. Having a crush on you was fun. You are completely filthy but a southern gentleman at the same time. It’s a funny combination that makes me feel the thrill and the comfort at the same time. You have an infectious smile. You know I would fuck you in a second. We’ve discussed it at length, even though we only knew each other for a minute.

That’s why I liked you though, you didn’t shy away from my blatant sexual fronts. I like to come on to you in the most indiscreet way possible. It’s very liberating to flirt with someone who can handle it.

It’s too bad we will never do it, even though it would be inappropriate on so many levels. I would booty call you right this second.

I met you when I was a kid. I was running away from my family, on the other side of the country. I knew I didn’t want to be with you forever. I wanted to be young and carefree and you were just good because you were a bad boy. There is a never-ending appeal to a bad boy.

I aborted your child, sure we wouldn’t end up together, knowing I wouldn’t be with you forever, certain we should not raise a kid together, knowing we were not committed.

40 years later, I am still somehow with you. It’s as if we are still teenagers – living in separate apartments, unwilling to commit. But I wonder when we give up the ruse and admit that we are just together, and probably will be. Forever.

Eventually you just love someone by virtue of the fact that you are together.

Or maybe it’s because we keep the distance that we are able to love each other.

Maybe the key to loving forever is knowing it could end. The lack of commitment makes it a conscious choice every day. Every time we see each other, we are choosing to see each other. Just like teenagers dating.